Humor Political Satire The T-Rump Dig

53-47 …

“Chief Justice, I just want to reiterate that the Donkeykongrus did not allow us due process when they deposed the few dinos that slipped through our hands into that subterranean chamber we forgot all about. It’s a crime that that happened. …

“Chief Justice, I just want to reiterate that the Donkeykongrus did not allow us due process when they deposed the few dinos that slipped through our hands into that subterranean chamber we forgot all about. It’s a crime that that happened. A down-and-out, filthy, abhorrent, despicable crime. And it is with that bad taste of utter disgust in my mouth that I yield my time to my colleague, the Jaysekulow.”

The Jaysekulow approached the flat rock lectern and dramatically slapped tails with the Patcippollone as they passed each other. The Patcippollone pumped his fist.

“Just like the M-B-S. Oops. Did I say that?”

“Chief Justice,” said the Jaysekulow, “this whole thing is a charade of a bad dream of an enigma wrapped in dino dung. I mean, c’mon. Really?” He wiped his brow. “And now, I’m going to start yelling.” He paused to look at the Adamschiff. “I can’t believe you’re charging the T-Rump, our leader, with a crime! You can’t! He didn’t commit a crime and even if he did, you can’t charge him with one! Don’t you understand? We win both ways. Both ways! Okay?! I yield, dammit! Because you guys make me so mad.” 

He shook himself like a wet dog and returned to his squatting post. The Patcippollone returned, their tail slaps badly whiffing in mid-air this time, the Jaysekulow losing his balance and falling down, only infuriating him more. The Chief Justice stifled a grin.

“Chief Justice,” said the Patcippollone, “I want to get back to that subterranean chamber thing …”

And so it went for the next two hours. The Patcippollone and the Jaysekulow tag-teaming the same half dozen tired talking points, regurgitating lies and half-chewed locusts as defense legal dinos for the Tyrumposaurus on Day One of his impeachment trial.

The Sin Hut dinos were not allowed to leave. Carnivores had to eat grass. That left the herbivores on a 12-hour fast. They also couldn’t stray too far to pee. With 100 Sin Hut dinos in place, nearby trees paid the price. The changing wind and the resulting urine scent wafting through the chamber only soured the monotony of the Cippollone-Sekulow sideshow.

Off to the side, the Zeppelinsaurus squatted, watching dinos from both sides laying down the groundwork of the trial. The rules. There was the Moscowmitch calling the shots, his turtle-like head lolling about as he looked around, head then bobbing up and down at the odd chuckle of his smug prowess. Overseeing the shenanigans of his supposed best and brightest.

Upset at the goings on, the Zeppelinsaurus rose from his squat. There appeared to be little or no headway for the Donkeykongrus in the Sin Hut today. Vote after vote along dino species lines. The Zeppelinsaurus left the proceedings, starting down a long path leading to … nowhere he thought. What does this all mean? Common sense as well had left the proceedings. The leader of the free-running dino world had bribed a foreign dino leader for damaging information on a rival in the next battle campaign. Under normal circumstances, a dino leader would be ripped apart for such a transgression. The Donkeykongrus had duly impeached the T-Rump and now the Grandoldparty dinos, led by the Moscowmitch, were trying to pretend it never happened. 

“Oh, we may listen to your relevant evidence at some point,” the Moscowmitch had said. “You’ll, heh-heh, have to trust me on that one.”

The Zeppelinsaurus’ subdued nature set in like a cold fog. He frowned at the path he’d ventured down. Deep in the jungle, trudging downhill through a muddy morass. Would life itself take a tumble? He worried and fretted about what was happening. Sleepless nights of tossing and turning jumbled thoughts over in his mind. Where was the hope of a better day? Where was the promise of tomorrow? He kept thinking about that woman. That female dino in the Sin Hut. Being a creative dino of sorts, words came to him along with a haunting melody, helping to release this melancholy mindset that his heart, his conscience could hold onto no longer. 


There’s a lady who’s old, Susancollins we’re told

And she’s why we’re at 53-47

When she gets there, who knows, will her mind still be closed

With a word she can get what she came for

Ooh, ooh, and she’s why we’re at 53-47


They are deaf to it all but she wants to be sure

‘Cause you know Adam’s words are compelling

In a trial by the book, there’s a jailbird who sings

Someday all of the evidence will be given


Ooh, he’ll put us under

Ooh, he’ll put us under


There’s a feeling I get when Mitch lies at his worst

And my stomach is crying for heaving

In my thoughts I have seen rings of conspiracy

And the voices of those lock-step marching


Ooh, he’ll put us under

Ooh, he’ll really put us under


And it’s obvious soon, if we don’t change the tune

Then the T-Rump will lead us to treason

And a new hell will burn for those standing strong

And all justice will join the hereafter


Just watch the ripple in the swamp grow, all those in the know

It’s just recycling for the fake king

Yes, there are two loops you can be in, both the wrong one

There’s still time to leave this cult you’re in


And he’ll put us under


Their heads are turning and four won’t go, because they don’t know

How T-Rump will come down upon them

Dear Susan, can you hear the real blow, “a favor though?”

Your legacy now in the grand dust bin


And as we find no truth to hold

And Rachelmaddow calms our soul

There walks the Collins we all know

She shines a light that doesn’t show

How everyone is bought and sold

And the stonewall so very hard

Obstruction to the very last

Democracy now in peril

Once our rock and now a hole


And she’s why we’re at 53-47


You can hear the musical version of today’s post and previous T-Rump Digs at my podcast site at Podbean. Two new T-Rump tracks every Saturday. Enjoy!

By David Belisle

I'm a novelist and screenwriter in search of the Great Guffaw. It's kind of like getting hit with a bucket of Gatorade. It's a good time that sticks with you.

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